Varanasi Airport - June 1992
The heat of the Indian summer was like a physical wall, thick with the scent of dust, aviation fuel, and the distant promise of rain. As the sliding doors of the arrivals terminal hissed open, a young man stepped out into the chaotic sunlight of Varanasi.
The fourteen-year-old boy who had left four years ago—lanky, boyish, and still carrying the softness of childhood—was gone. In his place stood an eighteen-year-old Ashutosh Pathak who seemed to have been forged in a different world entirely. Standing a towering 6 feet 3 inches tall, he possessed a presence that felt far larger than his physical frame. His [Physique: Stage 4 - Ordinary Enhancement] had optimized his growth during his time in New York; he had the broad, powerful shoulders of a swimmer and a sharp, cinematic jawline that looked like it had been carved by a master sculptor.
He wore a simple, high-quality black t-shirt that gripped his torso, charcoal jeans, and leather boots. His hair was cut in a modern, clean style, and his eyes—the same deep, "Fiery" eyes from his childhood—now held the calm, predatory stillness of a man who had mastered the laws of both man and media.
He didn't have to look for his family; they were impossible to miss. A large section of the waiting area was occupied by the Pathaks.
"Ashu?" Savitri's voice was a mere breath. She stood at the barrier, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on the giant walking toward her. She looked up... and up. Her "little Kanha" had returned as a titan.
"Maa," Ashutosh said. His voice had dropped into a rich, resonant baritone that carried a natural authority. He dropped his expensive leather bag and immediately knelt, placing his forehead against her feet in a perfect, traditional Pranām.
Savitri let out a sob of pure joy, pulling him up and cupping his face. "Hey Bhagwan! What did they do to you in America? You've grown so much I didn't even recognize my own son!"
"He looks like he could pick up the whole Haveli on his shoulders," Raghunath laughed, his eyes misty with pride. He stepped forward and hugged his son, finding that he now had to look up to meet Ashutosh's eyes. "Welcome home, Son. Or should I say, welcome home, Counselor? I saw the transcripts from Columbia Law. Summa Cum Laude?"
"The law is easy when you know how the story ends, Papa," Ashutosh replied with a small, knowing smirk.
He then turned to his siblings. The four years had changed them all significantly.
Abhishek, now twenty-five, looked every bit the industrialist. He was sturdier, wearing a professional kurta, and carried the scent of the spice factory. He was the one keeping the gears of the Pathak empire turning.
Aryan, at twenty-three, had a sharp, calculating look behind his spectacles. He was the family's CFO, the man who turned Ashutosh's visions into cold, hard cash.
Ansh, twenty-one, had the ink-stained fingers of a tinkerer. He was deep into telecommunications research, his eyes bright with the excitement of the upcoming satellite age.
But it was Ananya who stepped forward last. At seventeen, she was a striking beauty, her features sharp and expressive. Being only a year younger than Ashutosh, she had always been his closest confidante and his fiercest rival.
"Well, well," Ananya said, crossing her arms and looking him up and down with a dramatic flair. "The American returnee. You're so tall now it's actually offensive, Bhaiya. I suppose I can't call you 'Chote' anymore."
"You can try, Choti," Ashutosh laughed, pulling her into a one-armed hug that lifted her off her feet. "But I think you'd need a ladder."
"So," Ananya whispered as they walked toward the parked cars, "did you do it? Did you write the script?"
"I did more than write it, Ananya," Ashutosh said, his voice dropping so only she could hear. "I've mapped out the entire production. We aren't just making a film. We are launching Trilogy Studios as the premier production house in Asia. And I've already secured the international distribution rights for the NRI markets in the US and UK."
As they reached the cars, a black Mercedes—a sign of the Pathaks' rising wealth—was blocked by a group of local 'toughs' who were harassing a porter. One of them, a bulky man in a political scarf, leaned against the Pathak car, spitting tobacco.
"Move it, old man," the thug growled at Raghunath, who was trying to open the trunk.
Before Raghunath could respond, a shadow fell over the thug. Ashutosh stepped forward, his 6'3" frame eclipsing the sunlight. He didn't shout. He didn't even look angry. He simply looked down at the man with a gaze so cold it seemed to drop the temperature of the air.
"The car belongs to my father," Ashutosh said, his baritone voice vibrating with a subtle, dangerous power. "And you are leaning on it. You have three seconds to decide if you want to walk away or be carried away."
The thug looked up, his bravado vanishing as he realized this "rich kid" had the shoulders of a heavyweight boxer and the eyes of a killer. He scrambled away without a word, his friends following close behind.
"Ashu!" Savitri scolded, though she looked impressed. "Don't pick fights the moment you land!"
"I wasn't picking a fight, Maa," Ashutosh said, opening the door for her. "I was just setting the tone. From today, the Pathaks don't move for anyone."
As the convoy drove through the familiar, crowded streets of Varanasi toward the Haveli, Ashutosh looked out the window. The 90s had arrived. The economy was opening. The era of the Media Emperor was about to begin.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETED: THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGY]
[SKILL POINTS ACCUMULATED DURING TIME-SKIP: 45,000]
[CURRENT BALANCE: 52,100 Skill Points]
'52,100 points,' Ashutosh thought. 'Just enough to push my [Scriptwriting] to Level 6 and my [Director's Vision] to Level 6. I need to be an expert to handle the egos in Bombay.'
"Papa," Ashutosh said, turning to Raghunath. "I'm not staying in Varanasi for long. I need to be in Bombay by Monday. I've already sent a message to Govinda-bhaiya and Shah Rukh. It's time to start DDLJ."